


take care

by mickeysdean



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysdean/pseuds/mickeysdean
Summary: Mickey settles back before handing him his meds and the Gatorade. Ian opens it. Ian takes a sip. Ian swallows his pills.Day after day after day.And still, look where he ended up.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 16
Kudos: 183





	take care

_i'll take care of you._

**_it's rotten work._**

_not to me. not if it's you._

A door slams down the hall. Debbie screams. Ian stares blankly at the door.

He hasn’t moved. 

It’s been two days. He wants to do things, he _does._ But he can’t bring himself to get up for anything other than a piss, every few hours. 

He’s _sorry,_ he is. It’s only been a few months since the wedding and he’s already putting Mickey through this shit all over again, but he can’t help it. 

He hears the door open, not at all quietly, but it’s hard to slide the accordion style door gracefully when it’s probably older than the person opening it. 

“Hey, man,” Mickey mutters out as he walks in. With him comes the scent of cigarettes, but also, strangely, peanut butter.

It takes him a moment, but eventually Ian realizes it’s coming from the plate of toast smeared with peanut butter that Mickey brings with him. He’s got a glass too, filled nearly to the brim with water, and Ian watches as he places it with the unopened Gatorade bottle that rests on the bedside table, right next to Ian’s morning dose. 

_Lithium._

_Zyprexa._

_Lamictal._

A mood stabilizer, antipsychotic, and antidepressant, respectively. 

Despite the anger he feels, he stares blankly at the three multicoloured pills as he wonders which one could have _possibly_ crapped out on him this time. 

The bed dips next to him, and he snaps out of the daze he was falling into to readjust his eyes on Mickey. Mickey, who’s still here. _For some reason._ Mickey, who takes care of him. _Over and over and over again._ Mickey, who loves him. 

His ring glints in the light as he reaches forward to brush his hand through Ian’s hair before settling it on his cheek. 

“Brought you some breakfast,” he says, smiling in a way Ian knows is meant to reassure him. “You gotta eat with your meds, man.”

Ian flinches imperceptibly, but nods against the pillow. Mickey’s hand smooths down his shoulder and across his chest until it rests on Ian’s waist, where he uses it to help him sit up. Sometimes, it makes Ian feel like a child, Mickey taking care of him like this. Today, it just makes him feel better. Mickey’s his husband, who _loves_ him and wants to take care of him. 

Once Ian’s relaxed, sluggishly, against the pillows and the wall, Mickey climbs over his body with the plate, leaning back so Ian can drop his head down onto his shoulder. Slowly, Ian reaches out for the toast and brings it to his mouth to take a bite. He can’t manage to keep his arm up the whole time, so he drops it to his lap between bites. Mickey talks occasionally as he eats, telling him about Debbie’s screaming fit this morning or what Franny talked about at breakfast.

When he’s done, Mickey leans across him to return the plate to the table. Ian leans forward, just a bit, just enough to breathe him in.

It helps. 

It always helps. 

Mickey settles back before handing him his meds and the Gatorade. Ian opens it. Ian takes a sip. Ian swallows his pills. 

Day after day after day. 

And still, look where he ended up. 

Stuck in bed less than three months after the happiest day of his life. 

Once he’s taken them, he slumps forward into Mickey’s chest, hoping Mickey can hold them both up instead. He does, of course. 

“You want me to hang around for a bit?” Mickey shifts down the bed until they’re lying together, rubbing a hand up and down Ian’s bare back. 

“Yeah,” Ian says, voice dry and cracking. He turns his face into Mickey’s neck and breathes in deep. “Thanks, Mick,” He breathes out. 

“Not a big deal, man,” Mickey huffs, “Get to spend time with you so it doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

Although it felt impossible just a few minutes ago, Ian smiles, just a bit. Yeah, he’d choose the time with Mickey too.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in a few years as an attempt to get back into writing. I'd really appreciate any feedback you have!!


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